


Forget the Bull in a China Shop

by roswyrm



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Fights, Smoking, this is entirely inspired by dessa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 10:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18179342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: She'll break all the bulls, shatter them like glass, like pottery, like the fine china she’s supposed to be.





	Forget the Bull in a China Shop

**Author's Note:**

> i took the title (and all my inspiration) from the song Bullpen by Dessa. it's good. go listen. Working Title: _*wakes up* oh fuck i gotta listen to dessa *runs into traffic*_

Lian spits blood. She’s small, wiry and stronger than anyone ever thinks. The man she’s facing off against, they call him Minotaur. They call him Champion and Strong and Better Than Some Little Girl. Lian pants. She’s not done yet. 

Minotaur roars. He’s big, musclebound and clumsier than his stance would suggest. He gives the audience a show. They certainly paid for it. Lian wipes the sweat off her brow. They call her China Doll. They call her Sweetheart and Weak and Going Down In Half A Second. Minotaur puts his fists in the air. A victory pose.

Lian doesn’t make a damn noise as she charges, with fire in her fist and with rage in her blood and with fury in her footsteps. She leaps, and Minotaur turns around to see her just as her fist rockets into his jaw. He stumbles backwards. Lian’s momentum propels her forward into his chest, her whole body slamming into him and knocking him back. Minotaur spits blood. Lian stands on his chest and roars, putting her fists in the air.

A victory pose.

The audience doesn’t cheer. They never do. Lian’s weight doesn’t stumble when Minotaur tries to stand, to crawl to his feet, to preserve some fragile shred of his dignity. Lian stomps. Minotaur whimpers. The crowd boos as Minotaur gives up, gives in. They call her China Doll. They call her Cheater and Dirty Fighter and Couldn’t Fight Him Like A Man. 

Lian snatches her cash prize and goes home.

Her boyfriend doesn’t ask about the bruises. He calls her Lee-Anne. He calls her Sweetheart and Baby and Bring Me Another Cigarette. Lian hands him a whole carton. She bought it on the way home. She paid the rent before he could see the thick wad of cash sticking out of her pocket. 

The landlady saw it. The landlady sees a lot. The landlady sees the bruises, and she sees the blood, and she sees the way Lian is chomping at the bit to prove herself. The landlady calls her Lian. The landlady calls her Kid and Fighter and Full Of Moxie, Huh Little Lady. The landlady keeps the cash safe for her. She doesn’t take any for herself.

Lian buys them breakfast when her boyfriend goes to work. Lian calls her Doreen. Lian calls her Miss and Ma’am and Too Damn Nice To Me, Honest. The landlady is only a year or two older than her. Doreen. Lian. China Doll and Landlady. 

They don’t talk about the bruises. They don’t talk about the fights. They don’t talk about how Lian is a china doll in a bullpen, fragile and delicate and bound to be broken. Because Lian can handle herself. Because she’ll break all the bulls first, shatter them like glass, like pottery, like the fine china she’s supposed to be. Doreen smiles, teeth straight and white and pearly like porcelain. Lian smiles back, teeth crooked and broken and stained by blood and cigarettes. 

It feels something like home.


End file.
